A Place for Both the Pen and the Sword

Sometimes everything stops.

Not long ago, Barbato said, an announcement boomed over the public address system.

People put down tools, stopped typing, left plates of food uneaten and walked to the main road running through the base, from the hospital to the runway. A three-star general stood in front of Barbato and lines of troops, civilians and contractors. It was silent, he said, a silence all the more profound in a place so crushed by noise.

A delay was announced. Still, no one moved, he said. No one spoke.

Finally, the coffins -- plain metal boxes stamped with a destination -- rolled out.

"You don't just walk away when it passes," Barbato said. The memory makes him shudder. "It stays with you. Even when you walk into your classes, walk into your meal, it's" -- he stopped for a moment. "I'm sorry, I just got a little bit -- "

Mostly, the professors said, they work, scrambling to set up additional classes, searching for more teaching space and enjoying how steely soldiers turn into eager young college students, offering answers and worrying about quizzes.

Most days, Barbato said, he doesn't notice the M-16s strapped to his students' backs. It almost seems normal now. He doesn't worry until he sees an empty seat.